Random Writings: A is for
by themusicain
Summary: There's more info inside, but essentially a collection of drabbles/ head-canons/ scenes/ character studies/ short one-shots/ anything else really inspired by words beginning with the letter A
1. Alan

Alan

Being the youngest had its advantages.

Like when he was a kid, and wanted something; all he would have to do was flash those big, baby blue eyes of his, and the brother in question would fold and reach down whatever item it was that Alan desired, be it his favourite toy car or a cookie from the jar that Grandma mistakenly thought was out of their reach.

Being the youngest had its disadvantages.

Like when they'd rescued Lady Penelope from the Anderbad Tunnel, and all the others had swanned off to the various nightclubs Paris had to offer, leaving poor, underage Alan to sit with the "oldies," as he secretly called them, listening to "geepzy muzeec."

But Alan didn't think he would change things around for the world. There was a pecking order in the family, and Alan didn't mind being at the bottom.

It meant he could get away with murder when necessary. Grandma was far more likely to suspect Scott or Virgil than baby-faced Alan of stealing her chocolate cake (provided he wiped his face clean before she saw him, of course). As much as he loved his brothers, there was something satisfying about watching his Grandmother chase them with a wooden spoon after they'd been particularly smothering.

Yes, being the youngest definitely had its advantages.

* * *

 **So, it's been a while.**

 **Having watched and been re-inspired by the new** ** _Thunderbirds_** **series, I found myself digging around forgotten folders on my laptop, unearthing a collection of titles from A-Z which I'd made ages ago for when I was suffering from writer's block (many of which already had a short scene/study/headcanon/general drabble attached). So I took them, sorted them out, wrote even more short little snippets, and the result is before you: my Random Writings.**

 **I'd toyed with just chucking them all into one "story" with a chapter for each letter, but it didn't feel right. And if I got struck by another title, I would have to edit those chapters in order to add it, and people might miss it, and... yeah. This felt a little more right. And then I can update each letter at my leisure, or as inspiration strikes me.**

 **As I said, it's been a while, a very very long while, since I submitted anything to this site. Hopefully my writing's matured a bit =P**

 **I've got three ready to upload just now, and then we'll see how it goes.**


	2. Alligator

Alligator

Alan tossed another chicken leg into the enclosure, giving a little cheer as his pygmy tossed her head, catching the snack in one deft movement.

"Nicely done," he crowed, throwing her another. Again, she caught it easily, her little dark eyes looking up at him expectantly.

"Sorry, no more," said Alan, showing her the empty bucket. The little alligator gave a derisive snort and waddled off into her house.

"Still talking to dumb animals, I see," said a voice behind him. Alan turned to see Virgil leaning nonchalantly against a tree trunk, sandwich in hand, watching him. Or rather, _feigning_ nonchalance; Alan caught the nervous glances his brother threw the house in the middle of the enclosure.

"I'll have you know, Laika is an intelligent being."

"Well, if you're comparing her intellect to your own, I guess you're right," teased Virgil, pushing himself upright, although he didn't come any closer.

"Why so nervous, Virgil?" asked Alan innocently, resting his hand on the gate to the enclosure. Virgil took a step back.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah." Alan's hand made its way lazily towards the catch. Virgil took another step back.

"I'm surprised you like her, considering you were almost eaten by her cousin."

"There's nothing to be scared of here, Virgil," said Alan in a rather condescending manner. "Laika would never hurt me." Alan opened the gate, making soft clicking noises. The pygmy poked her head out from the entrance to her house, blinking up at Alan. Then her eyes flicked towards Virgil. Here was another human. He might have brought her more food. She moved forward, opening her mouth expectantly.

Virgil bolted, dropping his sandwich in his haste to be gone.

Alan chuckled, closing the gate. He picked up the discarded sandwich and tossed it to his alligator.

"'Atta girl."

* * *

 **Something I would genuinely like to see in the new series is Alan with an alligator. I like the idea that everyone else would be terrified of it, even if it was the best-behaved little alligator there ever was.**


	3. Astronomy Lesson

Astronomy Lesson

"What about that one, father?"

Jeff smiled, following his son's finger.

"That's Betelgeuse, son," he replied, pulling John into a more secure position on his knee. "And see those other stars?" He traced the outline with his finger. "They make up Orion, the hunter."

John's eyes were wide, the dots of light reflected in them.

"Have you ever gone to any of them in your rocket, dad?"

Jeff chuckled.

"No, son, they're too far away." Seeing John's face fall, he added, "But I could see them every day from the space station."

"Cool!" John said in awe, his previous disappointment forgotten. He was silent for a moment, gazing up at the stars.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to be an astronaut, like you."

Jeff held him tighter, ruffling John's hair and chuckling when the tiny Tracy grimaced and put his hand up to smooth it back into place.


	4. Aristocrat

Aristocrat

When Jeff had first introduced Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward to his sons as their British Agent, they hadn't been sure how to react. The very title "Lady," complete with her own cockney butler, was enough to make Alan snort, which he disguised by pretending to blow his nose. Virgil would have smacked him upside the head if the "Lady" hadn't been present.

Her fashionable clothing, her polite, upper-class manners, long gold hair and delicate features made her a sight to see as she strolled through the gardens on Tracy Island, for all the world like a modern-day princess in Paradise.

Virgil couldn't see how someone so delicate, so obviously used to the better things in life, could possibly be of use to an institution that would be combating disasters of all kinds, dealing with people from all walks of life, witnessing the good of rescuing someone, the bad of the damage inflicted by fire, earthquakes, floods, and the ugly of knowing that you just can't save everyone. He just couldn't see it.

Jeff showed the Lady the training room, and asked his sons to give a demonstration. John had cut himself quite badly helping Brains with some panelling that had been damaged in the latest test run, so he was excused. Gordon showed off his prowess at shooting, talking through the training exercises. Alan demonstrated the gym equipment and the climbing wall, showing her Brains' innovative harness. Then it was Scott and Virgil's turn.

As the two strongest, they demonstrated hand-to-hand combat. Despite Scott's height advantage, Virgil had more experience than Scott, as well as being stronger and stockier; he quickly overpowered his older brother, much to Gordon and Alan's delight. Lady Penelope looked politely interested, and Virgil was sure this was all a pretence- she was probably thinking about the next dinner party she was going to throw.

So imagine Virgil's surprise when the Lady asked if Virgil would spar with her. The five boys stared at her open-mouthed. Jeff, however, merely smiled.

"I don't see why not."

The Lady quickly removed her high heels and jacket and moved to stand opposite Virgil on the mat, cream pants, pink blouse, manicured nails and perfect hair rather at odds with sweaty Virgil in shorts and T-shirt, his hair ruffled from where Scott had tried to force his younger brother down. Virgil resolved to go easy on her.

Minutes later, he was flat on his back, with the tiny aristocrat pinning him down with a force he hadn't believed her capable of. Her hair was still neat, the only sign of exertion being that one button had come undone on her blouse, allowing Virgil sight of a bit more than he would normally be allowed. Gordon, Alan and Scott were snickering over in the corner.

Lady Penelope stood gracefully, holding out a hand to haul Virgil to his feet. She smiled, re-buttoning her blouse and stepping back into her shoes. Jeff helped her into her jacket, his face twitching with the effort of not laughing at his middle son.

"I'm sure you were just a little tired after sparring with your brother," she said. Then she _winked_ at him, just for him, and only for him to see.

That wink still haunts Virgil to this day.

* * *

 **Lady Penelope in the original show was so sedate and calm; one of the few things I _did_ enjoy about the film was how badass she was (she and Parker were the best thing about the whole film, tbh). I love the idea of built-like-a-tank Virgil getting flattened by someone half his size. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the boys would have treated her with respect, but now it's just a mixture of respect and awe instead =P**

 **Thank you to those who are following so far. It's encouraging :)**


	5. Allergies

Allergies

Mrs Tracy always kept an epi-pen and various other allergy medicines on her person. Not for herself- she'd been around for a long time, and she hadn't had an allergic reaction yet. No, it was there for the benefit of her grandsons, and that young scientist her son employed. Somehow between the six of them, they managed to cover most of the common allergies.

Brains was allergic to dust mites, enough to send him coughing and sneezing. Mrs Tracy did what she could, ensuring the villa was kept as clean as possible, but unfortunately the scientist wouldn't allow her into his lab; he insisted that there were far too many delicate experiments, and that he couldn't risk her upsetting one of them. So instead, she had to watch him emerge from that messy lab time and time again with his eyes streaming, handkerchief at the ready.

John was allergic to nuts. Severely. He actually kept an epi-pen on his person at all times, but if his jacket was at one end of the room and he at the other... Mrs Tracy preferred not to think about it, just patted the reassuring shape in her pocket.

Virgil had revealed an allergy to penicillin when he was seven with an ear infection. This wouldn't bother Mrs Tracy as such, except that her middle grandson was the worst for getting cuts on rescues, which occasionally got infected. There was a special cabinet for Virgil's antibiotics.

Gordon suffered from hay fever, albeit mildly. Rather unfortunate considering the fact that they lived on a tropical island, with all manner of exotic plants and grasses. Add in the fact that Kyrano loved to garden, and Gordon's life may have been spent almost exclusively indoors if it weren't for the pool. There, he could swim to his heart's content out in the fresh air.

Insect bites and stings were Alan's Achilles' heel. The first time he'd run in after a bee sting, Mrs Tracy had almost lost her head, rushing him to the hospital the moment he said he was struggling to breathe. Fortunately, Alan had learned quickly that if he didn't bother the bugs, the bugs wouldn't bother him (even if there were exceptions to the rule, like Gordon), and so the epi-pen was rarely required for the blonde. He didn't even panic when one made its way towards him, just stayed still and waited for it to go on its way. Even so, outdoor excursions with Alan were often accompanied by the pungent smell of insect repellent.

Scott, much to his chagrin, was allergic to make-up. It wasn't the fact that he was allergic that bothered him. It was the way he'd found this out in the first place.

Unsurprisingly, Scott's enlightenment had involved Gordon.

Mrs Tracy had almost run out of skin cream treating that one.

* * *

 **I suppose this could almost be considered AU, since we don't actually _know_ of any allergies in the Tracy household. I've written something before where John was allergic to nuts, but the rest...**

 **In my experience, the youngest attracts the most insects. Poor Alan =P**


	6. All Work and No Play

All Work and No Play

Disasters were unpredictable things. If they weren't, they could always be avoided, or prepared for, and wouldn't earn the right to be called disasters.

So International Rescue was always prepared for the unexpected. Anytime, anywhere, it didn't matter- if they were called, they would come.

Sometimes, calls were few and far between, and the rescuers found themselves struggling to find things to do.

Virgil's method was to paint and play as he possibly could. Brains shut himself in his lab. John would read, go jogging, work on his next book, or gaze at the stars, depending on the time of day and whether he was in Five or on Earth. Gordon managed to while away the hours by swimming, practicing his shooting, or hurling prank after prank at his brothers. Alan would go to the mainland with Tin-Tin, or else spend hours with her on the far side of Tracy Island. Jeff simply wrote up reports, occasionally taking a break to appreciate whatever it was Virgil was playing at that time, or to read through what John had come up with so far.

Scott, however, quickly ran out of things to do. He could only spend so long in the gym before getting bored, he'd been banned from the kitchen after the last gingerbread incident, and he didn't have the creativity that Virgil had.

However, in days when the cries for help came swift and thick, Scott often dreamt of those empty days. Well, day-dreamed, anyway.

The world would suddenly experience disaster after disaster, only allowing perhaps a few hours' rest before International Rescue was needed again. In those days, Scott got by on caffeine and adrenaline, and would grow steadily grumpier and stricter with his brothers.

In the case of Alan, John and Gordon, they were never needed quite as much, so they got more rest. As for Virgil, he was prepared, if really desperately tired, to catch a few hours when travelling to and from rescues, allowing whichever brother he deemed most competent to do the flying.

Scott, he had the responsibilities of leadership to deal with. He had no relief, either, if he fancied a nap en route. So he would snap orders over the radio, saving what little tact he had left for the victims and officials at the danger zones.

But his brothers understood.

After all, all work and no play made Scott one unhappy boy.

* * *

 **Not entirely sure how I feel about this. I'm sure Tin-Tin made a comment about Scott not getting enough time off at some point. I feel like Scott would probably end up the most frayed during busy periods.**


	7. Anger

Anger

His hands shook as he removed his filthy uniform, throwing it into the wash basket by his door.

So many people.

When his grandmother called everyone for dinner, he just couldn't face joining the others.

So many people.

He wasn't hungry anyway.

So, so many people.

Instead, he wandered down from the villa to the beach, and stood there, staring out at the waves.

Women, men, children.

He picked up a stone, smooth from years of being worn by the sea and sand.

So many people.

With a throat tearing roar, he threw the stone as hard and as far as he could, watching it arc over the choppy waves until it was swallowed up.

Children... men... women...

He kicked the sand, then sank to his knees, shoulders twitching as he sobbed.

So, so many people.

* * *

 **A bit more angsty than I usually go for- I have a feeling the various drabbles may have reflected my own mood at the time. Intentionally ambiguous as to which brother it is; I imagine they all would have felt this way at some point**


	8. Artist

The Artist

He'd always admired his brother's talent.

John would smile and gasp in awe along with the rest of his family as Virgil revealed his latest masterpiece. And Virgil would smile modestly, fiddling with the hem of his paint-stained tunic.

Sometimes, if Virgil was out painting a sunset, John would sneak out to watch him.

His back would be straight, a testimony to the hours spent by his piano teacher telling him to "sit straighter, Virgil, do."

His brow would be slightly furrowed in concentration, his eyes darting from the canvas before him to the slowly setting sun on the horizon.

His hand would reach out, extending the brush, gently smoothing the paint onto the canvas, or swiftly flicking to catch the birds that flew overhead.

The back of his hand would be covered in tiny little dots, testaments of Virgil's determination to get exactly the right shade for that particular cloud, or the shadow of that palm tree.

And John would pull out his camera to catch the moment forever.

For, much as he loved Virgil's paintings and drawings, John felt that equally beautiful was the artist himself, at peace with himself and the world.


	9. Adrenaline

Adrenaline

Adrenaline was a funny thing. Sometimes it was the only thing standing between the success and failure of a mission; that burst of energy and increased concentration that allowed him to leap across a chasm he would never have managed to cross otherwise. The heightened awareness that told him the building was about to collapse seconds before the first of the debris began to fall. That temporary relief from the bruises and sprains and cuts that adorned his body. Scott thrived on adrenaline.

It was unpredictable, though. It could hit at the most inopportune moment, when he needed his hands to be steady, when he needed to think clearly. Out of his brothers, he was the most adept at dealing with the rush, the best at channelling it in ways that would serve him best.

He could never predict when the crash would come, though. Sometimes, they'd be packing away mobile control, debriefing the authorities, when suddenly every ache would announce itself at once, and every movement would become a chore. Other times, he would fall asleep on the couch at home during debriefing, waking up a few hours later covered by a blanket and with stiff muscles.

Sometimes it would hit during the flight home. During such times, he and Virgil would chat all the way home, talking about stupid stuff, anything to help Scott stay awake and alert. Even if Virgil was feeling the same, his need to keep his older brother safe would overpower his own tiredness just long enough to see Scott home. Sometimes John would chip in, updating them on the aftermath, or Alan, winding them up until they were growling in response.

Adrenaline didn't always hit on a rescue. When it did, however, Scott welcomed its temporary help.

* * *

 **As a performer, I'm more than familiar with the weird things adrenaline can do to your body. But it's so necessary.**

 **Thanks so much those of you who have followed/ favourited/ reviewed this so far, it is much appreciated :)**


	10. Advice

Advice

It was a truth universally acknowledged (in the Tracy household, anyway) that a man capable of dispensing good advice must be in want of the ability to follow it himself.

Take Virgil, for example. Despite having been scolded on no less than seventeen occasions for trying to get out of bed before proclaimed fit to do so by the island's chief medic, Scott was having a hard time convincing his younger brother to _stay in bed_. Gordon had offered to strap him in with bungee cords, and Scott was beginning to seriously consider letting him do just that.

Virgil pouted, sniffing miserably from the nest he'd made for himself on the couch. A recent rescue during a monsoon had ensured a thorough soaking for the entire team; however, whilst Alan and Gordon had been able to dry off and warm up during the flight back, and Scott had powered on ahead to do the same, Virgil had endured the entire flight in his soggy uniform and caught a chill. He was now banned from rescues and his piano, and was, as Alan so succinctly put it, like a "bear with a sore head. _Literally_."

"Virgil, if it were any one of us, you'd be ordering us to bed-rest."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't let any of us get away with whining, either."

"I'b nod whining," growled Virgil thickly.

"But you are being stubborn," sighed Scott, folding his arms. "C'mon, Virge, you're supposed to be the medic; you _know_ you should be resting."

"I _ab_ resding." Shifting slightly, Virgil somehow managed to sink deeper into the cocoon of blankets surrounding him. He'd snuck into the lounge whilst Scott and Gordon had been on a rescue- mostly to make sure Gordon wasn't abusing his 'bird- and had been discovered by an exasperated Tin-Tin, who'd been hunting for him medicine bottle in hand. Virgil had been surprisingly meek and accepted his dose without complaint, but he was now refusing to budge.

"Resting means not hanging around listening in on rescues and threatening Gordon every few minutes."

"I would hab beed buch worse if I _hadchoo!_ \- had stayed in bed."

"How do you figure?" Gordon cocked his head to one side.

"I'd hab beed worrying aboud whad Gordon was doing to by 'bird wiboud knowing whad was going on. I wouldn'd hab beed able to sleeb."

Scott laughed as Gordon's left eye twitched, fingers tightening around the bungee cords reflexively. "True." He took the bungee cords from Gordon before the aquanaut decided to use them on Virgil after all. "But we're home safe and sound now, and so's Two. So you can go back to bed."

Virgil looked sheepish.

"Actually… I can'd mobe."

"What do you mean, you can't move?"

"I'b a bid… trabbed." Virgil flushed, sinking even further into the blankets. "I god tangled ub-"

The rest was cut off by Gordon howling with laughter. Scott shoved a pillow at him, chuckling lightly himself.

"Fine, Virge, you can nest here."

* * *

 **A little bit of sniffly Virgil after all the angst and contemplation ;) And yes, I've been on a bit of a _Pride and Prejudice_ kick, how did you know?**

 **So, this kind of took a different direction from what I originally thought advice would be about- more about Virgil ignoring his own than anyone dishing out advice- but I like how it turned out. And this is part of the point of these titles; to see where they take you.**


	11. Anonymity

Anonymity

Whenever John returned planet-side, he always took a few days break away from the island to "re-set" himself, sometimes accompanied by a brother, sometimes alone, but always to a busy city. His brothers never quite understood his choice of holiday destination; they too enjoyed a city break now and then, but John had always been the most introverted of the five, happy to spend months alone in space.

What John enjoyed was the anonymity he felt in a busy city. He would weave through crowds, never touching, never stopping, watching the people around him. He would spend hours in a museum or gallery, just another tourist.

He was the least recognisable of his brothers. Whilst Gordon and Alan enjoyed a certain degree of celebrity due to their brief sporting careers, Virgil had a small following for his art and music, and even Scott was recognised for being Jeff Tracy's oldest son, few people knew more of John Tracy than that he was an astronaut who wrote books. He was rarely seen at Tracy Enterprises events (being up in Five), and had never provided a photograph for his publisher to use in the jackets of his books.

John almost always returned home for Christmas, leaving Five in an automated state for a week or two. He would shop online, and his gifts for everyone would be there ready to be wrapped when he got back. Even so, he would still fly to whichever European city took his fancy- alone- and immerse himself in the Christmas markets. He liked to handpick something small for everyone, to go with whatever he'd ordered.

The streets and stalls were brightly lit, music blaring, people laughing and talking and yelling, the smell of sausage and ginger and sugar and chestnuts and chocolate and garlic and doughnuts mingling and making John's mouth water. He clutched his purchases as he wandered, long legs moving him quickly as he walked down the street, winding his way through the busy market. Occasionally he would stop and examine an interesting stall, sometimes shaking off his disguise of anonymity just long enough to point, exchange money for goods, and smile in thanks, before disappearing back into the crowd, just another shopper.

Eventually he tired of the crowds, the slowness of the people around him beginning to frustrate him. He ducked into a side street, out of the throng. A few steps and a corner later, the noise of the market became muffled, the light less bright, as he left the people behind.

This wasn't the shortest way back to his hotel, but it would be quicker than fighting his way through all the people. He needed the silence, the solitude, just for a bit before he got back to the hotel and called home.

He wasn't entirely alone, there were one or two people, but that was fine. A woman laden with heavy shopping, a couple of men who-

John frowned. The men were definitely following that woman, closing in on her, and as she reached the mouth of an alley, they caught up and pushed her in, her cry quickly cut off. John ran.

The woman's bags were strewn across the ground, she herself pushed up against the wall, as the men began to undo her coat. Dropping his own bags, John charged forward, catching them by surprise.

The fight didn't last very long. John had training, whereas these men relied on their size. One was overpowered, the other ran away, and John called the police whilst sitting on his captive.

Having given his statement, John helped the woman pick up her bags, even offered to carry them for her and order her a taxi. She shook her head with a shaky smile.

"I just live around the corner, but thank you."

"I can carry them that far, at least."

She nodded, and led him to her flat. John handed her her bags and began to walk away.

"Wait! I didn't get your name when you spoke to the police."

"It's John."

"John…?"

John smiled. "It's not important."

"Thank you, John." She reached into her bag and pulled out a little glass star, miraculously intact after the attack. After a slight hesitation John took it, nodding in thanks.

He melted back into the anonymity of the street.

* * *

 **This wasn't on my original list of titles. Where I currently live, there's a massive Christmas market that takes up the entire main shopping street and the square nearby. It's always incredibly busy, particularly on the weekend and especially now there's only a couple of weeks left before Christmas. I have to walk through it every day to get to and from work.**

 **My flatmate hates going down the street when it's heaving with people, but I actually enjoy wandering around through busy crowds (as long as I'm not really aiming to buy anything in particular; I'm a woman on a mission when it comes to gift-shopping =P). It's hard to explain why something so chaotic could be so calming, but it kinda is, at least for a little while. Then, like John, I get tired of all the people and go find a quiet route home. That's where this idea came from, just the other day. I almost uploaded it immediately, but I may have got a little too deep with my comments here if I had =P The story was written immediately upon getting back to my flat, and has only been altered slightly before posting.**

 **This is the last of the snippets under "A". Unless any more bite me in the next few days, I'll start posting the ones beginning with "B" in a little while :)**


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